


Hinata Hajime Will Kiss the Boy

by NachtGraves



Series: Tumblr Prompts [4]
Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, Fluff, Fuyuhiko knows what he wants, Hajime is a dork, M/M, Somewhat established relationship, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 02:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10710606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NachtGraves/pseuds/NachtGraves
Summary: Hajime is determined. He will do it. He will smooch the boy....If he can build up the nerve to do so.





	Hinata Hajime Will Kiss the Boy

**Author's Note:**

> I am bad at titles, man.
> 
> Prompt: First kiss
> 
> Hit me up on [tumblr](http://nachtgraves.tumblr.com)

Night settles over one of the nicest summer days of the year. Hajime tries to settle his nerves. The steaks are marinated and ready to be laid over the skillet on the stovetop. The rosemary potatoes are in the oven and have another twenty-five or so minutes to go. The salad is awaiting a drizzle of raspberry vinaigrette in the fridge, alongside two bowls of chocolate mousse. Several options of red and white wine are resting in his cupboards. His best china are sitting on the counter waiting for food to be laid on them, and his best silverware are laid out on the small dining table by the doors to the balcony, propped open to let the cooling breeze in.

Tonight is the night. He’s finally going to find out if the lips haunting his late night dreams and lunch breaks are as nice and soft and firm have made them out to be.

There’s a knock on the door.

“Oh god. Okay. I can do this.” Hajime psyches himself up and quickly making sure nothing will catch on fire or explode in the few minutes it will take to let Fuyuhiko in, speed walks—he does not run—to the door.

His little pep talk is forgotten the moment he opens the door and lays eyes on the shorter man before him. His throat goes dry and his heart stutters. “H-hey.”

Fuyuhiko, dressed modestly in a dark, form hugging vest over a long sleeved button down and dark skinny jeans looks up at Hajime and the brunet mentally agonizes over whether or not his plain t-shirt and chinos are dressy enough.

“You gonna let me in?” Fuyuhiko quirks a brow.

“Oh, right, yeah. Come in, make yourself comfortable.” Hajime moves out of the doorway so Fuyuhiko can come in, shutting the door behind them and watching anxiously as Fuyuhiko takes in his apartment. It’s not bad but it’s not as grand as anything Fuyuhiko is probably used to. From their few dates, and the intel Chiaki has deigned to tell him, Fuyuhiko comes from a world of exclusive private schools, brand name underwear, and private chefs.

“Smells good,” Fuyuhiko turns around and smiles. Hajime forces himself to avoid looking at the other man’s mouth.

“Thanks, there’re potatoes in the oven and I just need to grill the steaks. You like yours medium rare, right?”

Fuyuhiko nods and Hajime leads him to the kitchen, turning on the stove and grabbing the steaks. Fuyuhiko leans against the side of the counter and Hajime discovers he’s developed some sort of performance anxiety. The blond’s gold eyes watch his every move and Hajime does his best to pretend it’s not affecting him.

“If you want to help yourself to some wine, I have a couple bottles,” Hajime says, hoping his voice doesn’t sound as shaky to Fuyuhiko as it does to his own ears. He directs Fuyuhiko to where the bottles and glasses are and looks up from the steaks when he hears a laugh.

“Now would be the time to tell me if you’re secretly an alcoholic,” Fuyuhiko says, pulling down one of the white wines. Hajime flushes.

“I wasn’t sure if you had a preference. I know red is usually had with steak, but I’m personally not a fan of it.” Hajime admits this to the steaks sizzling in the skillet, turning them over.

Fuyuhiko only huffs a quiet laugh again and pours two glasses, coming back to stand by Hajime and the stove and setting the second glass on the counter.

They talk about their day and Fuyuhiko asks about Hajime’s cooking repertoire. Fuyuhiko bullies Hajime into helping set up the dining table by taking the potatoes and salad while Hajime serves up steaks on his best plates. Fuyuhiko comes back to the kitchen to grab the wine bottle and Hajime’s half-sipped glass. They set up the table and Hajime serves their meals.

Hajime leads the conversation mostly due to his nerves, anxiety has him babbling but Fuyuhiko doesn’t seem to mind. The blond sips his wine and eats his meal, watching Hajime with this _look_ that Hajime can’t read. He’s relieved when the winds pick up and he has to get up to shut the balcony doors, using those few seconds to try and calm himself. Fuyuhiko enjoys the food, and Hajime grins while trying to deflect and downplay the compliments.

“Do you want to put on a movie and with dessert?” Hajime asks, clearing up the table. “I just need to grab it from the fridge.”

“Yeah,” Fuyuhiko nods. He licks his lips and Hajime focuses on stacking plates and keeping one foot in front of the other. The wine is definitely affecting the both of them. Hajime’s head a little fuzzy and Fuyuhiko’s skin has gained a pink tinge over the course of dinner.

Hajime puts the dishes in the sink to deal with later and pulls out the bowls of mousse from the fridge. Impulse has him grabbing a box of strawberries that he quickly rinses and puts in another bowl, bring the three bowls and two spoons to the living room. Fuyuhiko has made himself comfortable on the couch. His vest is folded over the back and his feet are drawn up under him. He’s pulled up Netflix on the TV and is scrolling through the movies in Hajime’s list.

When Fuyuhiko sets eyes on the bowls, Hajime grins at the very eager look.

“Chocolate mousse with whipped cream and strawberries,” Hajime presents with a little flourish. He pulls the coffee table closer to the couch and sets the strawberries on the table, giving Fuyuhiko his bowl of mousse and a spoon. Fuyuhiko takes a bite and his eyes flutter shut with a soft hum.

“That’s really good, Hajime,” he says, eyes remaining closed as he sinks back into the couch.

“Yeah? Thank you, glad you like it. What movie do you feel like watching?”

They decide on some random action flick but Hajime, in clichéd fashion doesn’t pay attention to what’s happening on the screen. His eyes purposely ignore his command and keep flickering to watch Fuyuhiko’s profile. Despite the dressy semi-formal attire he looks soft and relaxed curled up in the corner of the couch. Hajime wants to reach over and run his hands over the blond’s buzz cut, trace a thumb over the soft relief of cheekbones, press his mouth to soft lips stained red from the strawberries and lick at chocolate mousse residue in a warm mouth.

Hajime shifts on the couch. He needs to get a hold of himself.

Fuyuhiko turns his head at Hajime’s shifting. He’s almost done with the mousse, having taken his time with it, savoring each mouthful in a way that has not helped Hajime with the situation of his rampant and rebellious hormone driven thoughts.

“You wouldn’t happen to have more of this, would you?” Fuyuhiko asks. He licks his spoon clean and pouts subtly at his empty bowl.

Hajime, unlike Fuyuhiko, has barely touched his mousse and has a good half of it left in his bowl. He had other things on his mind and he had made the mousse for Fuyuhiko, knowing about the blond’s not-so-secret sweet tooth. He reaches for his mostly forgotten bowl and offers: “No, but you can have the rest of mine, if you’d like. I’m stuffed from dinner and doubt I can finish this, honestly.”

There’s a gleam in Fuyuhiko’s eyes that Hajime attributes to gaining more dessert but he is not prepared for Fuyuhiko to scooch over, eating up the polite and socially acceptable space Hajime had purposely put between them on the couch when he sat down, and take the bowl out of hands. And then _he stays there_ , shoulders brushing and knees faintly touching. Fuyuhiko takes a big serving of Hajime’s mousse and languidly sucks it from the spoon with a pleased sigh and hum that is just this side of almost being a moan. Hajime is going to _die_.

Hajime swallows the lump in his throat and jerks to face the TV. He has no idea what’s happening and Fuyuhiko is pressed against his side and doesn’t seem to have any desire to curl back up on his side of the couch. A couch that is really not all that small, pretty modest, actually, and there is plenty of room for two grown men to sit on it without being half in the other’s lap.

After a moment, Fuyuhiko huffs and sets Hajime’s bowl on the coffee table. “Oh my god,” he grumbles.

Hajime, alert and now worried looks over, question of concern ready on his tongue before there’s a hand grabbing at the collar of his shirt and a mouth pressed to his, halting any sort of sound from coming from his lips other than a surprised squeak that turns into a low groan of pleasure.

Fuyuhiko’s lips are just as soft as Hajime imagined them to be and the added taste of strawberries and chocolate and a hint of white wine just makes everything better. Hajime’s hands go to Fuyuhiko’s face and hips as he presses closer. Fuyuhiko eases his grip on Hajime’s shirt only to press his hands flat on Hajime’s chest and push him back so Hajime is lying on the couch, head on the arm rest, and Fuyuhiko is plastered on top of him. Hajime is not complaining.

A confident tongue licks at his lips and he opens readily to Fuyuhiko. He’s happy to let Fuyuhiko lead and enjoys their first kiss turning into a second and third and fourth, hands roaming over Fuyuhiko’s back, feeling soft fabric and warmth and adventuring to hot skin and the firmness of muscle.

When they finally need to pull back to breath, Hajime is panting and Fuyuhiko is flushed with bruised lips and blown pupils above him. Hajime wants to pull him back down and mark up any bit of skin he can touch.

All he can say is: “Uh, wow. Um.”

Fuyuhiko snorts and sits up, straddling Hajime’s thighs and placing his hands on the curve of Hajime’s hips. Hajime feels the blond’s palms like a hot iron that seeps through his clothes. “If I kept going at your pace you wouldn’t have kissed me until Chiaki or Kazuichi or fucking Sonia orchestrated a convenient mistletoe or I pretended to stop breathing in the hopes you knew CPR.”

Hajime flushes. “I—It wouldn’t—I mean.”

Fuyuhiko slides a hand under Hajime’s rumpled shirt and effectively cuts off Hajime’s stuttering, replacing attempts at protests and excuses and explanations with a broken moan at the feeling of a hot hand sliding against the sensitive skin of his stomach.

Fuyuhiko grins and Hajime wonders how long Fuyuhiko has been waiting for Hajime to make the first move. Although a lot makes sense now. Fuyuhiko is a massive tease and Hajime has been practicing a needless exercise in restraint.

“Shut up,” Hajime grumbles. He reaches up and manages to snag the front of Fuyuhiko’s shirt, pulling him back down. The blond goes easily and Hajime cups Fuyuhiko’s face in his palms, kissing him like he’s wanted to for the past few weeks since they first started dating and then moving down the list of types of kisses he’s been fantasizing of planting on skin and lips.


End file.
